


Murder in a Red Dress

by la_muerta



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Detective Noir, F/M, Humor, POV First Person, Shadowhunters: The Ficlet Instruments, week 6: Film Noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 16:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20361460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_muerta/pseuds/la_muerta
Summary: New York City is a tough place for a private eye to make a living in. Simon Lewis is just trying his best.





	Murder in a Red Dress

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [sh_ficletinstruments](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sh_ficletinstruments) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> A weary, cynical P.I. gets a new case.

It was a warm day at the end of May; the heat weighed me down like a guilty conscience. I'd opened a window to let out the smoke from an ill-advised cigarette, and my eyes were still watering from my misguided attempt to pick up the habit, but there was no wind coming in, only flies and the stench from the row of garbage pails standing in the alley outside my window. If I headed down to the police precinct one of the detectives might be willing to throw me a bone — or more likely, order me around running errands for them, and if I was lucky they'd feel like paying me for it.

Just then, I heard someone enter my reception room — a client? But I _never_ had clients.

I'm embarrassed to admit that for a moment I was flustered. I thought of getting my gun, which was safely locked up in my top drawer, but it wasn't even loaded. I couldn't remember if I had locked the door that led to my office and this wasn't a very nice neighbourhood, but if it was indeed a client, I should get up to check that the door was unlocked or possibly even open the door for them. 

Before I could decide what to do, there was a smart rap on the cheap wood and the door opened. I've seen a lot of things in my time, of course, and had more trouble than I'd care to admit, but I knew I was a goner the moment she walked through my door — trouble with a capital 'T', or possibly in all block letters. 

Not that her name was really "trouble" of course. Her name was Isabelle Lightwood, although she also went by Izzy, and even if I were to have another nickname for her it wouldn't be "trouble" because any day that she chose to come by my office was immediately a hundred times better. Besides, nobody would actually have a name like "trouble" would they, because that would be—

Um. I'm sorry, where was I again? Right, Izzy walking into my office. 

The click of her heels was sharp on the worn linoleum, and she wore a slash of blood-red lipstick and a dress to match. My visitor cocked her hip and brought me to my knees with a smile.

"Simon Lewis, are you just going to sit there staring at me all day, or can I take you out to lunch?" Izzy asked.

"Of course I always have time for lunch with you, but I'm paying this time," I told her, standing up to grab my coat and hat.

"Only if you'll do me a favour and take on a case. It's for a friend."

"Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Consider me hired," I assured her, offering her my arm, and this time I remembered to lock the door behind me. 

I think. 


End file.
